


The Dunes

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is gone obliterated from existence—or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dunes

**Author's Note:**

> While transferring files to Dropbox I came across this unfinished little diddy and was overcome to finish it. This would be considered AU I suppose, but who knows what Dean dreamed of during the time Castiel was gone or for that matter where Castiel was before his resurrection.

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream

~Edgar Allan Poe, “A Dream within a Dream”

 

 

There are few things more frightening to a human being than losing themselves to the darkness of anonymity. The inability to possess a face, name, or existence acknowledged by the world destroys so many, but not him—never him.

Deep within his subconscious lay a vague construct, something, or perhaps someone he might have been in a previous existence. He couldn’t be sure of the construct’s reality at that point. Understanding the difference between reality and a dream is difficult when one cannot speak nor see clearly the world surrounding them.

Minutes, hours, days…it could be any of the previous time measurements, but here in his hell (was that the correct word) time seemed to have no meaning. He understood there were others around him; they came and went with regularity, indistinct specters composed of light and shadow. They spoke to him, but their voices were lost in the magnificent chorus of his tormentor’s constant chatter.

Eventually, he tired of the constant torture and prayed for release from the searing inferno tickling along his flesh in coils of crimson and gold. There was a part of him unsure if there existed anything beyond this reality—dream?—that might possess power enough to answer his desperate prayer.

When he began to lose hope of escape the voice of his tormentor started to fade away until it was nothing, faint whisper lost to the darkness. The unholy fire teasing his body winked out as if a candle’s flame put to bed between the thumb and forefinger of some glorious giant or god from an age-old fable. Flames extinguished, relief washed over his body and he drifted down into darkness, no longer able to demand anything of the world other than a respite from the pain.  
  
Water, briny and cold was the first thing he woke to, hair damp and sand gritty beneath his cheek. He blinked against the brightness of this new place; sun a polished gold disk in a sky of violet tinged blue. As he sat up eyes adjusting to the brightness, he sucked in a shocked breath at the vista before him. Water met sky, a mirror to the dispersing clouds tinted in shades of gold, orange, and rose. The air was chill yet not quite winter. He imagined it was a place somewhere between winter and spring nature unable to make up her mind.

He sat there, legs splayed on the damp sand creeping from tumultuous ocean to lift skyward in mounds, grass reaching toward the morning sun in desperate prayer, wind singing through towering blades. Shocked, he wondered if this was a dream or if perhaps the prison from which he escaped was the dream instead. Hope rose in his throat, clogged his nose, and dampened his eyes, but even as it did, he knew this must be the dream. Nothing could be this exquisite in reality he thought watching the sunrise, pastels fading into crisp blue.

When the colors had faded away, he looked around unsure of what to do. It was then he noticed the man. He was around thirty perhaps, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, pant legs rolled to the knee to reveal muscled calves. Feet bare, he waded through the crested waves as they rolled onto the sand and back in a hypnotic rhythm. His hair was dirty blonde, almost brown, but the sun brought out reddish highlights as he leaned forward, tossing a piece of driftwood out as far as he could. Head back the man squinted into the sun and he sucked in a breath at the first glimpse of the stranger’s face.

He was beautiful.

Chiseled features, full mouth, and freckles—there were numerous freckles—dusting the bridge of nose and cheeks. It was then he realized he’d moved closer. The stranger glanced back and smiled, eyes a color reminiscent of moss clinging to tree bark; green yet not green with hints of gold and brown.

“Castiel—is that you?”

He had no idea what to say. The name although familiar in some way was not a name he associated with himself, but then again he didn’t have a name—did he? Stepping closer to speak his voice failed.

The man approached, smile fading when he didn’t answer. When the man was within an arm’s breadth of him, he panicked, stumbling backward to land on his ass in the damp sand. The panic had come from nowhere, sudden tidal wave of fear cutting off anything he might have said.

Kneeling next to him, the stranger—if that was what he was—reached out, calloused hand grasping his shoulder. “It’s me, Cas. Dean.”

With the name, peace descended and he looked up into those exquisite eyes filled with concern. He tried to speak again and this time it worked. “Dean?”

Dean frowned at his confusion. “Don’t you remember me?”

He shook his head wishing with all his soul (did he have a soul?) he did recall this man who wore concern as if it were a familiar mantel. Fingers digging into the wet sand, he pushed back, and felt the warmth of tears streak his face. The man before him appeared shocked by the emotional response. Head tipping to the side in an attempt to capture his elusive gaze he spoke again.

“How can you be here? We left…” he stopped mid-sentence his voice cracking.

“I have a name.” He whispered.

Dean blinked, confusion shining in too bright eyes. “Of course you have a name.”

“My name is…”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel.” he enunciated the name breaking it into syllables. “My name is Castiel.”

It’s then he remembers—everything. He clutches his head and rocks, knees pulled tight to his heaving chest. So many things he’d done, bad things, evil things, and still he’d survived. It was as if the water he’d waded into had baptized him, washed his every sin away when he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

Then he’d come forth from the waters none the wiser to the betrayals he’d committed against not only humanity but also more important to those who’d become as family to him when nothing in the world made sense.

“How can we be here?” he stuttered though chapped lips.

Dean stood hand held out in a gesture of help. He wondered where here was exactly and if this was a facsimile of his friend or the real thing. Each detail seemed too real to deny and yet there was clarity, one only dreams contained colors brighter, sharper than reality ever seemed. He wanted to take Dean’s hand, allow him to lift his body and embrace him in strong arms he didn’t quite remember, yet he hesitated, eyes unable to meet those of the man standing over him. Instead, he focused on Dean’s bare feet, long slender toes flexing in the sand as he waited, far more patient than Castiel recalled.

“What are you waiting for an engraved invitation?”

There it was, the sarcastic edge, which was far more familiar. He was surprised when suddenly he discovered himself drawn to his feet their eyes meeting.

“Why would you help me?”

Dean smiled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of the things I’ve done.”

Expression falling, Dean squeezed his hands, thumbs rubbing over his knuckles. “This is a dream, Cas. The only thing I have left of you.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t your dream. This is mine.”

“I wish it were your dream, but you’re gone, destroyed by the Leviathans.” Tears welled in Dean’s eyes as his grip tightened.

Yes, the Leviathans and in particular their leader, personal tormentor within the darkness he’d been trapped in. He knew Dean was wrong. This wasn’t simply Dean’s dream fueled by guilt over judging the decisions he’d made. Leave it up to his only true friend to torture himself over something that wasn’t his fault. There had to be something he could say or do to prove this might be a dream but it was one shared.

“The decisions were mine.”

Dean blinked and cleared his throat as if to speak although no words were forthcoming.

He pulled his hands from Dean’s grasp, their fingers parting, lifted them and cupped the face before him he’d come to love. Yes, he loved this man. He was angel. Dean was a man. Perhaps, his Father had frowned upon the two mingling then again maybe the humans had created those stories long ago. It was possible humans believed they were undeserving of the love an angel could offer for an angel’s love was something far deeper than anything the human heart could conceive of.

“I am the one who lifted you from perdition.” He whispered as he moved closer. “You are the one who taught me what it is to be human—flaws and all.”

Leaning in he captured Dean’s mouth with his own in a brush of lips. Dean moaned, arms lifting to pull Castiel closer. The kiss seemed eternal, never ending, yet humans still need to breathe in a dream. He pulled away the sound of Dean’s desperate inhalation drowning out the sea beyond the dunes.

When their eyes met once more, there was understanding in Dean’s gaze.

“I didn’t…”

Castiel smiled for the first time since he’d escaped the darkness. “How could you?”

“Then this is real?”

“As real as either of us wishes it to be,” he offered.

“But if you’re not dead—where are you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Angels do not dream, but this place…” he glanced around at the sweeping dunes, the vast sea, and his heart ached. “Perhaps, this is my heaven and you are a guest.”

“Or maybe it’s a shared dream. Stranger things have happened.”

Dean reached out, pulling him down into the sand, tall grasses protecting them from the wind and this time he initiated the kiss. It was slower and deeper this time as their bodies entwined together, sound of the gulls a mournful love song in the sky above.

Pulling away, Castiel studied Dean’s flushed face, “Perhaps, your right.”

“Right about what?”

“A shared dream, a dream within a dream.” He pulled Dean down, his head settled on his chest. “And as long as I exist somewhere I will always find you here—among the Dunes.”

~Finis~


End file.
